


Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them

by SMT



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMT/pseuds/SMT
Summary: Although this recruit seemed dirty, shifty, and like a possible liability, there was no reason to immediately distrust him. He had signed up for Overwatch, after all, so he couldn’t be all that bad. Could he?





	1. First Impressions

Mei always did her best to be nice to everyone, and didn’t even like to think badly about anyone if she could help it, but the hunched man in front of her was proving something of a challenge for her. He was… he was… her eyes flicked from his grubby hands to his smouldering hair - carefully avoiding his shamelessly bare chest - to his torn shorts, valiantly searching for something redeemable about his appearance.

He was… on fire, even his hair - if nothing else, then it was certainly...impressive. There, that’d have to do. Mei staunchly ignored the less generous voice whispering in the back of her mind and reasoned that although this recruit seemed dirty, shifty, and like a possible liability (were those _bombs_ strapped to his chest??) there was no reason to immediately distrust him. He had signed up for Overwatch, after all, so he couldn’t be all that bad.

Mei tried to wrench her attention back to Winston, who was in the middle of explaining where the new recruit had come from and how he’d come to join Overwatch. Unfortunately, Mei couldn’t seem to focus on what the gorilla - ahem _scientist_ \- was saying, as the appearance of what may well have been a real life cartoon character was somewhat distracting. Her eyes continued to shift between the tall figures in front of her - was his hair _actually_ on _fire?_ How did that work? Why was he so dirty? Had he not had any time to _bathe_ before coming here? Had he simply gotten caught up in a Talon ambush? And for the love of all that was holy, where was his _shirt_?

“So you see, not only will he be a great asset to Overwatch now that we’ve reformed, but his companion will prove to be invaluable as well - ”

The man snickered at this, and Mei bristled. Was he laughing at Winston? She shook her head in disbelief - why was she so irked by someone she’d not even spoken a word to yet? She was better than this; kinder, and more logical to boot.

She didn’t really feel comfortable staring at this stranger for too long, but she forced herself to look at him again - she should know more than anyone that the world was full of beauty and goodness even in the most unlikely of places. Sure, this guy looked like the aftermath of a volcano, but surely somewhere amongst the ashes would be a promising bud of new growth. _Surely_.

Besides, they hadn’t even been introduced yet.

Speaking of which - 

“But enough of all that, I really should be helping you meet the team rather than telling everyone your backstory for you,”

“Don’t worry bout it, mate, I’ve got plenty of other stories to tell! The way I joined doesn’t have enough explosives to be interesting, anyway,”

Ah, that’s right, Mei had thought she’d heard Winston say something about Australia. That certainly explained the accent, and quite possibly his appearance too - if he’d arrived directly from there then Mei couldn’t blame him for looking the way he did. The poor soul probably hadn’t had a shower or good meal in goodness knows how long.

“This is Mei-Ling Zhou, our resident climatologist. Not only is she an expert in environmental science, but she’s great at providing cover and disrupting Talon operatives, so you’ll be seeing her both around the base and on the front lines, too.”

Thankful she was wearing her gloves, Mei held out her hand and smiled. Just because this new recruit looked a bit… off didn’t mean she should be any less polite. 

As he took her hand in greeting, Mei found herself looking up into the stranger’s eyes, which, she noted, were a startling shade of gold that she couldn’t recall ever having seen before. It certainly worked to his benefit that they were probably one of the few areas he was not caked in grime, though the soot on his face highlighted them similarly to the way make up would.

Noticing Mei’s scrutiny, the man gave an unnaturally large grin, seemingly unperturbed. Realising that she’d been caught staring, Mei blushed a little. Honestly the last thing she needed was for him to get the wrong idea...

Oblivious to her discomfort, Winston merely continued with the introductions.

“Mei, this is Jamison Fawkes, one of our newest recruits. He knows a lot about chemistry and explosives, so perhaps you’ll be able to cook up some interesting tactics for us to use in future against Talon.”

Fawkes… now why did that name sound oddly familiar…? She was still wracking her brains as Jamison let out a mad sort of cackle “No need to introduce me as that! I’ll never hear the end of it from Roadie if ‘e ‘ears people callin’ me _Mister Fawkes_! Nah, Junkrat’ll do fine.”

“Junkrat?” Mei gaped in disbelief, taking an almost involuntary step backwards as everything clicked into place. “ _The_ Junkrat?”

Junkrat laughed again. “Why sheila, you know another one? Crikey, I’m sure one’s more’n enough!”

This had to be a mistake. He couldn’t be Junkrat, one of the most wanted criminals in the world, _here_ in front of her, intent on joining Overwatch. That just didn’t make any sense!

“But that would make you…”

He puffed out his chest. “A Criminal mastermind? Explosives expert? One of the world’s most wante- oh wait, not anymore. Good ol’ Winston ‘ere’s signed that all away! Didn’t realise goin’ legit would have so many perks!” His face darkened for a moment. “Last time we tried it didn’t end well.”

Mei couldn’t believe it. Winston was bringing someone this dangerous to Overwatch? Entrusting him with the planet’s future? _And_ erasing all his past transgressions whilst he was at it? True, she didn’t know a lot about what he’d done, but she knew enough to know that it probably shouldn’t be scrubbed clean just like that!

She puffed herself up much like Jamison had - albeit due to righteous anger rather than pride - and rounded on Winston.

“We’re recruiting criminals now? Bullies? Thieves? Overwatch is supposed to stand for something! For _good_! We’re supposed to be heroes that save the world, not criminals that blow it up!”

Winston cocked his head, and frowned.

“Mei, you should remember that some of our most trusted members come from less than savoury beginnings, and that intent matters more to us than backgrounds do. Besides, we need all the help we can get right now, and Mr Fawkes and his companion are more than happy to lend a hand… aren’t you?”

Junkrat seemed unfazed by Mei’s outburst but was quick to agree with Winston, and even draped an overly-friendly arm around his shoulders… well the one shoulder he could reach around.

“Oh, sure! Gettin’ paid to do the right thing sure is a novelty, but me and Hoggy could get used to this. Throw in some bots to scrap and we have a solid deal on our hands, mate.”

Oh, and of course he was anti-omnic. Of _course_.

Mei gave Winston a pointed look. They already had enough trouble keeping Zarya and Torbjorn away from Zenyatta and the other omnics, without having to stop a trigger happy junker from killing them all too.

Winston pushed his glasses up his short snout, looking far more sheepish than someone of his size had any right to do.

“Uhm, about that. I’m not sure if you read your welcome pack but Overwatch is an inclusive organisation dedicated to bringing together the best forces for good from across the globe -”

Mei eyed the junker and nearly snorted. Force for good - more a force of destruction!

“Roight…”

Anticipating that the junker’s reaction to Winston’s explanation wouldn’t be pretty, and not wanting to witness the resulting show, Mei took a few hasty steps back, quickly excusing herself before things could get too heated.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up Winston, but I have to get back to my lab. I was - er - actually in the middle of something when I came out here and I should really be monitoring it...”

Winston didn’t seem pleased by her sudden departure, and shot her a look that clearly communicated _traitor_ , but Junkrat gave her a nice enough farewell, despite her harsh words. Maybe he didn’t care - he’d probably dealt with far worse in the outback than simply being called a bully and a thief (which were a matter of fact rather than insults anyway).

“Nice meetin ya, Miss Mei!”

“Right,” She replied stiffly, wondering if Winston would get on her case if she insisted that he not call her by her first name. Community was very important to him, after all.

She snuck another glance at the gorilla and noticed he already looked rather harried , though whether that was from her reaction to Junkrat, or the prospect of informing the junker about the inclusion of omics in Overwatch, Mei didn’t know. Either way, she didn’t want to add to his burden any more than she had to, and so resolved to leave the issue for another time, though hopefully she wouldn’t bump into the criminal for a while.

In fact, with a bit of luck the presence of omnics in overwatch would be enough to make the junker (and his mysterious companion) turn tail and leave before they could do any lasting damage to the organisation or their peace efforts, and Mei wouldn’t have to lay eyes on him ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The junkers react to their new surroundings

“Bots. Bloody _bots,_ Roadie! _”_ Junkrat muttered angrily, bushy eyebrows drawn low as he tinkered with whatever piece of equipment he’d deemed broken this time. “What kinda drongo builds an organisation to save the world and then invites fuckin _bots_ to join?”

As usual, Roadhog didn’t say much of anything in response, leaving his companion to continue on with his tirade.

“I mean, we’re gonna have to stick around now. Not only we gonna get paid, but when those heaps of junk turn on everyone we’ll be ready to send ‘em straight to the scrap heap, where they belong!”

He mimed firing off his grenade launcher a few times, one eye screwed shut as if he were actually aiming (which he did...sometimes).

Roadhog didn’t reply directly, too busy testing the strength of his new bed (“It’s crafted from the same materials as mine is, so it should hold,” Winston had assured him) and Junkrat wasn’t sure if the affirmative-sounding rumble emanating from his bodyguard’s chest was in response to him or his new mattress. Probably both. Hog was efficient like that.

“Course, we’ll still need to keep our eyes open in case this is another trap. Suits seem to like spending a lotta time messin’ us about. Think they’d have better things to do…”

“You need to remember to shut up around these people, then,” Roadhog wheezed, his newly reclined position seeming to labour his breathing more than usual. “You talking so much doesn’t matter when we’re cooking them right after, but these places keep everything on file. They report to superiors. It’s dangerous to run your mouth here; remember that, Rat.”

“I know I know, keep the shit irrelevant. I don’t go around tellin’ everyone about our weak spots ya know!”

“Not usually,” Roadhog conceded. “Just don’t let your guard down. The little ones look innocent, but they’re probably there to mine info out of you. Keep it zip- ”

“‘Keep it zipped, ya dip’ yeah yeah, I got ya. The big ones will crush us and the littluns will betray us. Shame, really. The tall russian lady and the dwarf seemed to be the only sensible ones round here when it comes to bots…”

Roadhog sighed. Rat would be taking them all out for boba next.

“Just don’t… _chat_ to anyone when I’m not around.” Junkrat was never very good at getting himself to shut up; that was one of Roadhog’s more unusual bodyguard duties, and was often much more difficult than simply eliminating threats with his scrap gun.

“I don’t bloody _chat_. Everyone’s always awkward or boring and I run me mouth to remedy it, that’s all!” Junkrat tapped a screwdriver on his metal knee joint a few times, his bottom lip jutting out petulantly. “Can’t bloody stand those long silences, s’like waiting for something to blow up but it never does… talk about a buzzkill.”

Roadhog marvelled at how, yet again, Junkrat had come within a hair’s breadth of the answer, but had managed to leapfrog over it at the last second; a conversation with him was indeed like waiting for a bomb to go off, except it always did, only when the fuse blew, there was less of a fiery boom, and more of an outpouring of crap, straight out of the junker’s mouth. Of course, if it was entirely just crap, then he could be left alone for sure, but Jamison could let little nuggets of prized information slip sometimes, and that could be all it took for the most skilled (or simply persistent) of listeners to sift through and bring about the end of the junkers, and all their treasure to boot.

Thankfully Roadhog was never too far away from his charge and was mostly able to keep him out of trouble, but there were a few instances when they became separated - like that very afternoon. Those were the times that worried Roadhog. Junkrat had survived well enough before hiring him and forming their partnership, but that was in Australia. They were fighting a different kind of battle now, one that Rat couldn’t simply blow up - which could prove to be something of a stumbling block to him.

Granted, Junkrat _was_ a pretty good problem solver (especially when it came to explosives) but could be pretty short sighted, whether he was dealing with bombs or people, and that made him a possible liability here, and something Roadhog would have to keep track of. Actually, scrap ‘possible’ and replace with ‘definite’ and you’d get a far more accurate picture. Roadhog sighed. He was going to have his work cut out for him here, perhaps even more so than when they were on the run.

“Keep in mind what’s important,” he started, checking for the telltale signs that Rat was listening before continuing. “Not making friends or trying to impress people, especially by doing stupid stuff with those frags of yours.”

“Oh, rack off Roadie, I’m not gonna blow another bloody limb off to score points with people who wear angel wings and cowboy hats every day.” He snorted. “And they think _I’m_ mad…”

Truth be told, Junkrat actually though the combat costumes some of the members of Overwatch had were pretty impressive - like a calling card of sorts. But no matter how snappily they dressed, he wasn’t going to try and get pally with people who couldn’t even _pretend_ to be nice to him during their first meeting.

Oh no, Junkrat wasn’t an idiot, despite what everyone loved to think (and occasionally say, often before being blown to bits). He’d seen almost everyone wrinkle their nose at his introduction and had noticed the way many of them managed to look down at him despite his greater physical height. To them, he wasn’t worth knowing; he had his uses for the organisation to exploit, but - in their eyes - wasn’t someone deserving of respect. Not that it mattered too much - Junkrat wasn’t exactly the type to take himself seriously, so hardly expected others to do the same. 

Still… maybe he’d hoped for a warmer welcome from a team of supposed heroes. It was all fine for them to judge when their home wasn’t a lawless, irradiated wasteland, when they had baths and showers and running water, and could get it whenever they wanted and at the exact temperature they wanted, too. In the outback you had the luxury of choosing from tepid, lukewarm, or fucking _cold_.

And what did they expect a junker who spent all his time working on bombs to look like, anyway? He might not be the best looking bloke but at least he had _manners_. What a way to treat someone you’d invited, asked for help from even!

Not that some of them even seemed to want it, like that snowy sheila. A criminal and a thief she’d called him. Well, she was right about that. But a bully? He was nice as pie to the people he wasn’t trying to blow up!

The problem with all these goody-goodies, he reasoned, was that once they had a bad impression of you they let it stick; they thought you likely to do any and all wrongdoing, even if it wasn’t what you usually did. Because he robbed rich folk and suits they probably thought he went around kicking puppies and blowing up schools too! Not that the latter hadn’t happened at some point… but it had been _empty_ (he was positive it had been empty. Of kids, anyway).

“Jamison.” Roadhog’s deep rumble of a voice broke into his thoughts, causing them to come screeching to a halt the way that brakes on a runaway train would - whiplash included.

Jamison started, his leg jittering as his mind flailed and tried to make purchase, before finally finding solid ground at the sight of his companion’s mask. He grinned. “Talking out loud again, ain’t I?”

“Yeah,” Hog grunted. “Needs work.”

As if there was a bit of him that didn’t. In fact, so much of Junkrat ‘needed work’ that he didn’t even know where to begin... which meant that he didn’t. Begin, that is. And that was fine by him - he’d rather be fixing equipment or improving his bombs than trying to do the same for himself. Was a mighty load easier, at any rate.

But, he didn’t say that out loud - intentionally or otherwise - and merely gave a defeated sort of sigh as he tried to regain focus on what he’d been doing before his mind had starting blathering on about everything.

“I’ll try, mate. I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roadhog's pretty chatty here, right? Don't worry, it's not going to be a regular thing! I just headcanon him as having more or less patience for conversations on different days. Sometimes I imagine him being completely non-verbal, and other times (like here!) he's inclined to speak a little more, simply because he needs a message to get across.


End file.
